Another Saturday Night
by yararebird
Summary: Jude interlude. A lockdown. A smackdown. Late night shenanigans. Hot Soup. Buttered Bread. Trash talk discoveries. (Title Credit: Sam Cooke) Profanity. Innuendo. Minor adult themes.


Another Saturday Night (And I Ain't Got Nobody)

Saturday nights at Briarcliff were unlike Saturday nights anywhere in the world. And this one was no exception. Sister Jude Martin was pacing in her chambers. She hated pacing. Hated fretting. It made her feel weak. And she hated that the most.

The asylum was on lockdown. According to Carl, their newest charge - one Theodore Henley, Patient C-17658 - had gotten hold of a crucifix somewhere and sharpened it into a makeshift stake, determined to "slay all the demon vampires." He'd managed to jab Carl in the thigh and make a run for it, so now Carl was in the infirmary giving Dr. Arden something constructive to do and Patient C-17658 was who the hell knew where with a weapon in hand.

So the common room was evacuated, as well as the kitchens where dinner was being prepared. This meant grumbley, hangry natives locked in their cells for an indeterminate amount of time while Frank and Briarcliff's crack security team (emphasis on the crack) combed the building with flashlights and batons.

So Jude prayed, locked in her chambers and rather hangry herself, alternately asking for the good lord to protect her staff and charges and promising to let that butcher Arden lobotomize Patient C-17658 as soon as he was apprehended. _Hell, I might even hold the hammer._

But her prayers were restless with her worry and hunger. She really just wanted a bowl of hot soup and warm bread, sweet butter melting into the sourdough pockets. And maybe one of those raspberry tarts with the powdered sugar on top. She bit her lip and groaned. Sat on the foot of her bed. "God, that sounds really good."

She fell back on the bed, honestly exhausted on top of hangry. It had been a shit day, really. She'd argued with Arden about treating a long-term patient with electroshock therapy. Total barbarism. Argued with the Monsignor about letting Arden perform the treatment. What truly grated her last nerve was that Arden would go to the Monsignor behind her back, pulling fucking rank like the self-serving, Narcissistic brown-noser that he was…

And it grated her nerve the amount of cajoling it had taken to bring Timothy around to her side. To the side of God, where they belonged. Promises of coq-au-vin and "I'll always bow to yar better judgment, Father. You know best, but I hate to think we would send one of His most unfortunate into the hands of such a barbaric science."

She knew well how to manipulate. How to cow-tow, to downcast her eyes, looking at him from just under lashes. How to self-deprecate. How to call on Christ as her ultimate tool. It had worked...for now. But it meant she had to cook after services tomorrow, slaving over that hot stove in sweat-drenched layers of god-forsaken black wool, ever-hidden hair clinging to her neck like a sticky octopus.

Not that she truly minded cooking dinner for the Monsignor. Or eating with him. Just the two of them. They were the quiet, glorious moments she lived for. Truthfully, she would do _anything_ for the Monsignor…

Growing a little warm, she unbuttoned her habit, rubbing her stiff neck, and shoved the damnable wimple off her forehead. She closed her eyes and sought centering. Did _not_ think of the Monsignor. His hands. The curve of his boyish lips. His sparkling eyes.

Her stomach growled. "Hush," she murmured.

And to top it all off, the police had called. They were expecting delivery of a murderer. "Bloody Face," she spoke the words aloud, dulling their power. But in the quiet of her chambers, they echoed ominously. A killer of women. Coming to _her_ asylum. Endangering her sisters and all the female charges in her care. But, as he was remanded by the state, there was naught she could do but hold him pending a psychiatric evaluation. Which meant another head shrink in their midst. Another man of science to challenge the Word. Not to mention, _her_ word.

A brow rose. Maybe Dr. Arden would finally make a friend. She smirked at the thought.

Timothy had agreed to keep the arrival under wraps. The last thing Briarcliff needed was that kind of press. Or any press, really. They had such plans for this place…

Her chaplet had slipped into the crook of her arm and she straightened it against her torso, briefly thought of praying again. But she was too hungry. And honestly, what good could it do?

She glanced up at the clock on her bedside. 8:18. A deep sigh.

There hadn't been any screaming so far, and that was a good sign. "Sweet baby Jesus, please don't let us have an escapee on our hands."

Three quick thuds at her door. Not knocks. She sat up, alarmed. Being shanked with a crucifix was _not_ high on her to-do list. Especially not on an empty stomach.

"Sistah! It's Frank!"

Sometimes, baby Jesus paid off more quickly than the Holy Trinity.

She extracted her keys from a pocket. Unlocked the door. The deadbolt. The chain. "Frank." He stood in the darkened hall, a bit rumpled, but none the worse for wear, juggling two rather large trays. "What's this?" She took a proffered tray and the security guard heaved relief.

"Dinner," he answered.

The smell was divine. Hot soup. Warm bread. Melting butter. And a raspberry tart, powdered sugar applied so sloppily and liberally it escaped the saucer onto the tray. "Frank. Yer an angel sent from Heaven."

He cocked his head, able to juggle his own tray now more easily. "First time I've ever heard that, Sistah. Came to tell ya we've uh - neutralized our runaway nutcase."

"Already?" It had felt like hours, though.

He attempted a shrug. "Well. Things coulda gone smoother, but… Eh. You know how it is." He nodded. "We've lifted the lockdown so's the fruitcakes can eat. And us, too, am I right?"

She smiled. "Thanks for the update. And the dinner."

"Anytime, sistah. I'll - uh - write up a report for ya and deliver it in the morning?"

She considered. It seemed slightly insane itself, but… "Frank. Why don't ya come in. Sit and eat."

A quick glance into her chambers. She could tell Frank felt uncomfortable, too. "I don't wanna intrude, Sistah Jude."

"Nah," She assured. "No intrusion. I'll uh - I'll welcome the company. And you can give me yar doubtless entertaining report over dinner with civilized folk and we'll call it even." She wished he would hurry up. The tray was heavy.

And maybe he sensed her impatience, because he conceded with a sheepish nod. "Alright, then."

She set her tray on the table before her fire grate and set his on the ottoman. Arranged the two comfy wingbacks there across from each other. "Sit." She gestured.

He sat, and they arranged their wrapped silverware and dug in. "I nevah thought I'd say this, but this is the best soup I ever put in my mouth."

"Mmm." Frank nodded agreement, dipping bread. "Aw, hell, I almost forgot." He extracted a bottled soda from each pocket. "Contraband, I know, but… I love a cold cherry pop."

Jude stared at the bottle with abject wonder. She hadn't had a cherry soda in years. Glass bottles weren't allowed in Briarcliff. Small wonder. But she was so happy anticipating the pleasant sweet carbonation that she couldn't be arsed to address the infarction. And Frank was an expert pop-top-popper. The bottles fizzed a touch onto the floor and Frank was surprised to see the nun giggle. "I'll - I'll get that up," he said quickly.

"Eat, Frank." Jude sipped soda and moaned with pleasure. "That's the best damn pop I evah put in my mouth, too." Frank grinned. And caught himself staring. Jude caught it, too. "What?" She asked.

"Nothin." He looked away, but back. She followed his glance. Her hair.

"Ah." She pulled the loose wimple the rest of the way off her head. "We'll keep this a secret with the pops, yeah?"

He blushed. "Sure, Sistah."

"So." She dipped bread, too. "What happened?"

Frank groaned. "The usual Saturday ngiht Briarcliff shit show. What a goddamn mess." He shook his head. "That crazy bastard stole a cross out of the rectory. I reckon during devotionals this morning. He'd sharpened it up on the wall or a table or somethin'. Who knows. Chased the Mexican around the common room sayin' she was some kinda damn vampire. Pepper tried to help. Threw a checkerboard at his head so then he chased her, too. And you know how Pepper is. She thought it was some kinda damn game. So Bruce and Carl run in there like a couple hot-headed g-men, grabbed the looney by his jammie pants, which of course he slips out of Houdini-style. So now we got a half naked soggy brained son of a bitch slippin' through the common room doors and boom! He's free-roamin' the halls!" He hadn't noticed Jude's increasing amusement and continued. "So I sends Mary Eunice up here to tell you ta lockdown and lock herself down cuz god knows she'd be the first one to try and give a psycho prayer session. Meanwhile, we round up the rest of the fruit salad and orderlies, get them all in the clamps. I look down and Carl's bleedin' out on me, stabbed in the leg. He's dumber than a box of bricks, Sistah. Seriously. I send him to the infirm. Call in the cavalry. So me and Dean - that new guy with the lisp?" He looked at Jude for the first time.

She nodded eagerly, chewing tart. "Mmm-hm. Yeah, I know the one yar talkin about. Tall black fellah?"

"Nah, that's Shrimpy. Dean's the fat one that brings a whole damn chicken for lunch everyday."

"Oh." She didn't know Dean, then. "I haven't met him yet."

"Ya not missin' much. Anyways, me and him come round the corner of B-Wing just in time to see the shadow of a loose tallywacker disappear into the hydrotherapy room and in we go, assholes and elbows. Dean blows his whistle to summon the troops and nearly chokes on the damn thing. Idiot. We get in there and this asshat's climbing the pipes, butt cheeks flappin' like a pirate flag." He paused to scoop soup.

Jude waved her hand, having way too much fun. "How'd ya get him down, Frank?"

"Mmm. We turned the hose on him. Orderlies came in and shut the doors, so now we got ourselves a situation involving this soaking wet naked lunatic brandishing a Jesus shank. We just hosed him into the wall until he fell. Then Dean jumps on him like some rabid homo and you got a right regular human slip n' slide. Took two other orderlies to get him pinned. Dean got a poke to the gut, but it's not too bad. Fact, it's probly good for him. And we managed to haul Van Helsing hog-tied inta solitary. And...I guess he's drying his junk off on his piss-stained mattress as we speak." He shrugged.

"Frank, you have a lot more fun than I do at work."

He winked at her. "No doubt, Sistah." He slid his emptied tray onto the floor and sat back. Seemed comfortable enough to prop his feet on her ottoman. "Not a bad dinner tonight." Drank his soda.

Jude relaxed, too. It was easy. Frank made surprising fine company. But then, she'd always had a soft spot for the easygoing guard. "Well. I'll see about deciding the fate of Mr. Henley tomorrow."

"What ya think'll happen to him."

She drank her soda. Propped her feet alongside his. "Frank. Sometimes they just need their brains scrambled a little. Calms 'em right down."

Frank winced. "That's a tough call, Sistah. I don't envy you."

She shrugged. "I can't let him be a danger to the general population." She smirked at him. "Or my favorite staff members."

He smiled in return. "Sistah -"

"Call me Jude, Frank. Sistah gets tiresome."

"Yeah?" He side-eyed her and saw no placation. "Alright, then. Jude. I have to tell ya, you never struck me as the type of woman to play favorites."

"That's because I don't play, Frank." She sighed. "I knew the day I met ya that you would be indispensable to me."

"Indispensable?" Frank laughed. "That's the nicest thing anybody evah said to me. What made you think that way? I never really thought of myself as much more than somebody's lackey, to be true."

"Oh, you're much more than a lackey, Frank. You remember the day we met?"

Frank laughed again. "Like it was yesterday. I'd been running around like a chicken with my head cut off with the new Monsignor. He just wasn't cut out to run a nut house, like. Get me?"

Jude nodded. "Oh, I get ya. Monsignor Howard is a man of great vision, but not so great in his vision of discipline."

"Agreed." He shook his head, reminiscing. "That was a rough day. I felt so bad for ya in a way, coming into this place coming apart at the seams. And the Monsignor tryin' ta buttah ya up with some wacky ideas about future childrens' wards and state of the art practitionahs. When I knew that not half an hour earlier some wack job had flung shit at him in B-Ward. Oh." He glanced at her. "Pardon my French, by the way. I forget my old sailor mouth sometimes."

She waved him off. "I've heard much worse."

"But I tell ya what." He leaned toward her confidentially. "You had this look in yar eyes, Sistah. And it was a look I recognized and loved from my old lady. That look that says 'I see right through this bullshit.' And I knew… I knew who was really wearing the pants from then on," he chuckled.

Jude smiled. "I appreciate the recognition, Frank. And...I appreciate yar respect. And all yar help. You're right. My first days here were pure hell. Files a mess. No staff to run things. Rooms full of zombies languishing in their own filth. But you were the one who helped me navigate. Helped me get my footing." She pointed at him. "And ya nevah talked down ta me. Not once. Ya nevah treated me like I was some soft brained novice. That meant a lot ta me."

Frank shrugged. "Women deserve respect. My ma - she was a tough cookie. Worked two jobs. My dad was always away. Worked for the railroad. I had four brothers to feed. And of course - we fought like drunk Injuns. She taught me a lot without even tryin'. And then came Claire."

"Claire?"

"My wife." He closed his eyes. "Another tough cookie."

Jude grinned. "Does she need a job?"

"Awww." His smile softened. "She died a few weeks after you got here, Sistah. Cancer. That's why I took that vacation so suddenly."

"Frank, I'm so sorry." She reached for his arm, hesitated only a second before squeezing it. "Sounds like you really loved her."

"I was a lucky son of a bitch, for sure." He laughed. "She gave me two great boys. Alton and Christopher. And she sure as hell raised 'em right. You know they say all men wanna marry their mothers. You evah heard that?"

"I have."

"Well, maybe it's true. Cuz she sure as hell reminded me of my ma." He pursed his lips in thought. "I miss her." Jude squeezed his arm again and he continued. "You know, I told her about you that day I met ya. She knew we was gettin' a new boss, as she put it. Wanted to know all about ya."

"What'd ya tell her?"

"I said, 'Claire. This one's gonna whip our asses in shape.' And she said, 'Frank. Watch ya mouth, for Christ's sake. She's a nun!'"

They both dissolved into laughter, Jude's hair falling forward with her throaty humor. She hadn't laughed like that in...a long time. "I like her! Wish I'd met her."

"Oh, hell, I'm glad ya didn't. I'd have both of ya bossin' me." But he sobered after a moment. "Claire was a looker, too, ya know. Hair like yours kinda." He shrugged and looked away. "Guess I was always a sucka for blondes."

Jude touched her hair absently. "It's a mess now. I sometimes forget about it."

"Well." He patted the hand still on his arm. "You coulda blown me over with a featha tonight, Sistah. I didn't know you was a beauty under that penguin suit."

"Yar sweet, Frank." She swatted at him. It'd been a while since she'd had that kind of appreciation. And maybe vanity was a sin, but Jude knew there was a time when she was a bombshell. Maybe she was still a bombshell. It certainly wasn't bad to hear it.

"Forgive me again, Jude, but I feel like I can speak freely around ya?" She gave him a go ahead gesture. "I get the feelin' you didn't exactly grow up in the convent. Get me? Not like Mary Eunice did."

"See?" She poked his arm this time. "Yar perceptive, Frank. I like that." Looked into her fire. "Nah. Yar right. I uh - I had a hard life, I guess. Some people would say. I may be a tough cookie, but it's because I earned it. Get me?" She used his own words.

Frank nodded. "Say no more, Sistah. Trust me. I get ya."

They both stared at the fire. Frank didn't push her for details and she was glad. Unspoken things swirled. Finally, quietly: "Ya know, Frank. Claire was a lucky woman, herself. Gettin' hold of you. If I'd found one the likes of you, I probly wouldn't be here now. In this penguin suit."

Now, it was Frank who touched her arm, more hesitantly than she'd touched his. "It's selfish ta say, I guess, but I'm half glad ya didn't, Jude. Cuz it sure is a pleasure gettin' to know ya now."

"Yeah." A little awkwardly, Jude patted his hand. "It's been a while since I felt like I had a friend on my side. Or somebody I can trust."

"Welp. Ya got me, sistah. Stuck with me for life. Or…" He shrugged. "Retirement. Whichever comes first." She chuckled. "I guess I should get back to the grind," he sighed. "Third shift is the quietest one."

"True." Jude was actually sad to see him go. But it was late. And Frank was nothing if not diligent, a trait she appreciated. "Well, I hope the rest of yar night is at least less exciting by half than the first of yar night." They rose together.

"I tell ya what," Frank promised. "If anymore shit hits the fan tonight, I'll leave it for you ta deal with in the morning."

"What a blessing."

He bent to retrieve their trays, but Jude stopped him. "Leave it, Frank. I've kept ya from yar work long enough. It can wait til tomorrow."

"Sure thing, boss." She walked him to the door and he paused in the hallway. "Howevah…" She raised her brows. "You let me know if ya evah decide to get out of the habit, so to speak. We could have some fun, I bet." Jude blinked, lips tensely containing a grin, and Frank's phrasing set in on him. "Aw, hell, Sistah! I didn't mean like that! I meant out of the habit as in -"

She put a finger to his lips, arm stretched well over the threshold. "I know what ya meant, Frank."

"Christ, my fuckin' mouth." He rolled his eyes. Looked back to her balefully. "Have a good night, Jude."

"You, too, Frank."

She listened to his keys jangle away down the hall and closed her door slowly. Leaned against it, a hot flush spreading up her chest and into her face. She leaned against the door laughing behind her hand.

Or crying.

She wasn't sure which.


End file.
